


Bloodline

by cherryblur



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Flowers, Hanahaki Disease, Language of Flowers, M/M, Mild Gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-11-01 11:10:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17866157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryblur/pseuds/cherryblur
Summary: Tyler grows flowers and Josh likes to pick them.





	Bloodline

It’s happening again, he thinks. 

That moment, where Josh makes him do it again and again until he’s so bloody and torn he can’t tell what’s tissue and what’s leftover stems. 

He’s sitting now, the puddle of red below him small enough, since they’ve only just started.  
“Roses,” Josh says from above. 

Tyler makes them grow from his palms in curly lengths, thorns blossoming against his skin.  
Josh kneels, his knees soaked darkly with the brunette’s blood.

“L-Love,” Tyler spits out. “Romance. Heartache.” He chokes when Josh rips the bunch of flowers out with a sickening crack. Their roots drip and look suspiciously like tendrils of skin. 

He’s shaking, watching his hand weep.  
He has to resist the urge to cry himself when Josh is spitting out another breed. 

“Baby’s Breath,” He hums, and Tyler’s roses sit on a towel next to his calla Lilly’s (magnificence, beauty) and freesia (thoughtfulness, innocence.) 

His fingers tremble and they glide over the top of his thigh, watching as the delicate blooms sprout from his skin. It’s a sensitive area. 

He wants to be buried in these ones. 

Josh rips them in a bunch and tilts his head like an expectant dog. 

“Purity,” Tyler feels petals slip from his mouth, over his lips and into Josh’s waiting fingers. His throat feels sticky and full. “Long lasting love.” 

He coughs up the tiny flowers holding the name, white and soft and stained with the blood on his tongue. 

He sniffs when Josh requests asters. 

So much red, he thinks when they’re growing in on the top of his hand, fluffy and lively.  
The gap on his thigh oozes because Josh didn’t pull the baby’s breath out by the roots. 

He doesn’t mistake it this time. Tyler wants to be able to see through his hand.  
“Patience,” He answers like clockwork. “Elegance, sometimes.” 

Josh keeps track of the pile on the dining room table and lets him bleed longer before saying, “Daises.”

He doesn’t want daises. He doesn’t want daises that will cover his cheeks and make his gums tear. 

“I love y-you,” Tyler stutters out. He vomits violet hydrangea heads and doesn’t tell Josh what they mean. Daises spurt up along his forearm this time and Josh clips them. 

He hiccups “Cheerfulness,” and spits out white petals. 

He sits like an apostle waiting for salvation, hands mangled and resting upon his naked thighs like Josh might just save him.  
His lips are swollen, red with blood and irritated from too many blooms passing by. 

His hair is tangled with tiny pink carnations. (Pride. Admiration.)  
Josh watches him shake and bleed like a newborn pup until he’s kneeling again. 

Tyler tastes like honeysuckle and he feels some of the flowers in his lungs shrivel and die when Josh kisses him smooth.  
He’s so small, so delicate in an embrace he never wants to be broken. 

He bleeds all over Josh’s clothes, his chest, his mouth.  
Gardenias try to push their way onto his thighs, shouting out their secret love and sweetness.  
Josh doesn’t know what any of them mean. 

He’s a living bouquet, fingertips soft and gentle against Josh’s face when he smiles with stained red teeth. His chest is thick with more flowers when Josh kisses him over and over. 

“I love you,” He says it, this time into a neck dotted with lilac blossoms. 

“I love you,” Tyler lets himself cry and cry and choke on his own petals until he’s gagging on peonies and tulips and anemones.  
He wishes Josh would prune his lungs of all these beauties now ruined in the pool of blood below them. 

“No more growing for today?” Josh whispers and it feels weird as a question. 

“No more,” Tyler hiccups. 

He’s covered now, skin dotted and thickly layered with small versions of different flowers, all colors and shapes. They bloom without his permission, following the orders of his heart, his clogged lungs, his swollen arteries running full with petals sticking to them. 

Even his blood has the feel of a daffodil limb. It’s slow, in gooey rivulets now because his body is patching him up with petals and sticking him back together while his heart pumps stems through his veins. 

Josh kisses him more and he wishes he would give all his flowers to him.  
Maybe as a curse; a blessing if he wanted it. 

He’ll never know the heartache of feeling his flowers die, or losing a bundle. The pain of watching them rip from his skin, on command, so easy and smooth and tortured. 

Stems tickle Tyler’s throat and he wishes he could throw them all up but instead giggles when he’s normal again.  
No blood, no blossoms. His skin is soft and tan and Josh bites into his naked flesh like a dessert. He must taste good. 

It’s silly for Tyler to want his flowers to be gone, and he voices it when Josh lays him down on the towel stacked with his babies surrounding him in a sickly remembrance wreath. 

Petals he doesn’t care to name slip past his lips. Petals, not heads or stems. He’s glad.

Josh laughs too and moves extra slow because he knows how easy Tyler is to break. But not this time, he promises.

He listens to Josh praise his body in a heated voice only good for rosemallows, or maybe moonflowers.  
Josh doesn’t harm a single petal when he’s bending over, hair slick and shoulders arching, with Tyler’s gentle thighs wrapped like morning glory’s around his waist. 

He wouldn’t dare hurt his flower.

**Author's Note:**

> comment some stuff


End file.
